Stitches
by MissFitt
Summary: Wendy is all grown up with children of her own. her husband is fighting in WW2, and she develops a special friendship with the young lady who works as her housekeeper.


a Return to Neverland story featuring a new character i created, Hannah Banquo  
  
Stitches  
  
I first began to work in the Barrington household after Edward, the husband and father, went off to war. London had become a frightening place, the war-torn buildings and cracked cobblestone streets were made all the more menacing by the grayness and chill of the climate. I was grateful to even have work, being newly eighteen years old and forced out of the orphange in Sussex. Having to pull my weight in the home for many years, cleaning and cooking for many others besides myself, the workload I was given at the Barrington's was hardly difficult, and for the first time, I felt accepted as a part of a family.  
  
The Barringtons had two young children, Jane and Danny. Danny was only a baby when I first arrived, not even old enough to speak. He was very precious, and reminded me of my brother James, now long dead from pnemonia. Jane was ten, very bright, with a deep-set survival instinct. She would spend hours reading her father's old army manuals, and she hardly ever spoke to me. She saw me as an intruder, even more so as I became close friends with the lady of the house, her mother Wendy.  
  
Wendy...to this very moment, I cannot fully describe the kind of affection we developed for each other. Any words I use never fully define the feelings, they are too precise for such abstract and intense emotions. She was thirty years old, not too much older than me, and the most light- hearted, joyful person I had ever known. She became an emotional protector to me, buffing away the bitter crusts the orphanage had built around me with starvation, overwork and indifference, with her Neverland stories of Peter Pan, Hook and Tinkerbell, and her endless good nature. I found her eccentricities endearing. In a way, she needed me too. Her husband, a kind, good man who loved and provided for his family, was far away, his condition a mystery. Mrs. Barrington trembled every time the doorbell rang, terrified that the caller would be bringing one of those ominous army telegrams, announcing her husband's death. I tried to be supportive of her, listening to her voice her fears as we washed dishes, did laundry, and tended to the children. I was the friend she desperately needed, as she was to me.  
  
The first Christmas Eve I worked for her, Wendy, as she insisted I call her, as she hated formalities, plastered a happy smile on her face for her children. Along with Jane, we found ourselves baking up a storm. Flour and sugar were rather scarce at the time, but we managed to have enough for a batch of cookies and a loaf of raison bread. Frost covered the outside of the windows, but inside the warm kitchen, I found myself growing damp with perspiration as I furiously kneaded the bread dough. Jane sat at the dining room table, meticulously measuring each ingredient to go into the cookies, down to the last tablespoon of vanilla. Wendy was rummaging through the cabinets, searching for something. She was down on her knees, the upper half of her disappearing into the cabinet under the counter when she called to Jane, "Jane, dear, I think the cookie cutters are in that box in the attic. Can you go see if you can find them?"  
  
The small girl scooted from her chair and headed for the stairs, her feet padding up each step audibly. I could imagine her mumbling to herself about her mother's lack of organization, and I found it to be amusing. I suppressed the urge to laugh. "Wendy, I think the dough is about ready, where is the pan it goes in?"  
  
Wendy emerged from the cabinet and stood up, clutching the pan. "It's right here, Hannah. The dough looks wonderful, it should be perfect." she smiled and handed the pan to me.  
  
"Oh, my, Hannah, hold still, your apron strings are coming undone!" she warned and stood behind me to retie the strings. As she tied, I felt the fabric hug my narrow body, her deft hands brushing against the small of my back gave me a shiver. In my head, an image of her behind me formed, her white apron over a light blue dress emphasizing the curve of her hips. I stood a few inches taller than her, but she was much fuller, her figure as sensual and beautiful as a vase. Her hair was darker than my honey blonde tresses, with a hint of red that appeared in the right lighting. I was struck with an urge to spin around and embrace her, be lost in her, and I didn't really understand it. I inhaled sharply as her hands suddenly splayed over my hips. "Gracious, Hannah, you're so thin, and your dress is a bit too loose. I can take it in for you later tonight. It won't take long, I have a sewing machine in my bedroom."  
  
I found my senses again, put the dough in the pan, walked over to the oven and thrust it in. I felt a bit dizzy, maybe it was warmer in the kitchen than I thought. "Thank you, I appriciate it." I managed to look up at her and smile. Her blue eyes matched her dress, and I noticed a flicker of tears in them.  
  
"Er...Wendy? What's wrong?"  
  
She wiped her eyes before any tears could even fall. "Oh, nothing. It's just...it's Christmas Eve, a time of such happiness, but there doesn't seem to be much of that right now. Edward is away, and Jane seems to be taking it very hard. And just now, realizing why you're so thin, your life in the orphanage. I sometimes forget how much pain there is in the world." She gently stroked my cheek, her warm hand velvety soft.  
  
I smiled again. "It's true, this isn't exactly Neverland. There are more Captain Hooks than Peter Pans in the world, but things always get better eventually. People learn to be strong, it's part of growing up." I couldn't stand to see her so upset. Wendy was too benevolent for the sadness she was feeling so deeply.  
  
She wrapped her arms around me then, holding me like a long lost friend. "I'm glad you came to work for us, Hannah. You've been such a wonderful help, and I hope you enjoy the holidays with us." She spoke into my ear.  
  
I returned her hug, my chin resting on her shoulder, our entire bodies in contact. I thought after a moment that it was time to let go and loosed my grip, but she held on. I relaxed against her, letting her hold me. In some strange way, this felt natural, and I never wanted to let go.  
  
The haze around us dissolved when Jane reentered the kitchen, a box under her arm. "I found them, Mother. Perhaps you should keep them in..." she trailed off when she saw us. Wendy released me and reached for the box of cookie cutters, quickly returning to normal after the brief lapse into whatever it was we had entered into before.  
  
The three of us set to mixing the cookie dough and cutting the shapeless spread of dough into a series of Christmas trees, hearts and little, rounded human figures, which we would decorate before they were baked. It was almost completly silent in the room, so we all jumped when Danny's loud wail came from the nursery, anouncing that he had awakened. Wendy went to tend to him, leaving me alone with Jane. She stared at me, her rounded, child's face set in a hard look of anger and confusion. I don't think she quite understood why she was upset, but she knew that I was a change in the status quo, a possible threat of upheaval of everything she knew and was a part of. It hurt me to think that I was powerful enough to destroy a child's life, even if I really meant no harm. The deepest, secret thoughts I had about her mother must never be brought to life. Looking into Jane's eyes, I knew there was no way I could do that to this fragile family.  
  
XXXXX  
  
Later on that night, much later, after the kitchen had been cleaned, and Jane and Danny were fast asleep, Wendy fulfilled her offer to adjust my dress. I told her it wasn't necessary, that it could be done in the morning, but she insisted. I don't think Wendy slept very well when Edward was away. She must have felt so lonely in bed by herself. I was not tired at all, so I humored her, going into her bedroom with her instead of retiring to the small spare bedroom I used while I was there.  
  
I listened to the rapid mechanical clicks of the sewing machine while I sat on her bed in my brassiere, slip, stockings and garters, watching Wendy work carefully, her back turned to me. Her hair was loose now, taken out of the netted snood she wore in the kitchen, and she had changed into her nightgown and robe. The lamp by the sewing machine illuminated only that corner of the room, and I stayed in the dimness on the bed, fiddling with the measuring tape she had used to measure me and find out how much she had to take the dress in. I twirled it around my fingers and measured my thumbs, six centimeters.  
  
"I really didn't have to take it in that much, Hannah, but it will make a world of difference. If anything else you have needs tailoring, I'll be glad to help you with it." Wendy spoke to me, still concentrating on her stitches.  
  
I didn't answer right away, and before I could think of anything to say, a soft murmur of laughter escaped Wendy's lips.  
  
"Did I ever tell you the story of the first time I met Peter Pan in person? I sewed his shadow back on him after my dog, Nana, got ahold of it!" I couldn't see her face, but I knew she had that winsome look in her eyes, the look she always got when she told a Peter Pan story. The sewing machine fell silent and she turned around to face me. "There, I believe it should fit perfectly now. As for the rest of them, I think it would be better to wait a little while before meddling with them. Now that you're out of the orphanage, I think you may fill out a little, and you'll be healthier for it."  
  
She handed me my dress. I held it in front of me as I rose from the bed and came into the light. I could immediately tell it would be perfect. I glanced over at Wendy and caught her studying my face, looking at me as if she had just discovered something surprising. "What is it?" I asked, quickly checking my reflection in the mirror on the wall.  
  
"Oh, it's silly. You just look very much like...well, you're facial features are similar to hers, but you are obviously much larger."  
  
Now I was really confused. "Who do I look like?"  
  
She sighed. "Tinkerbell, the pixie. She was blonde like you, and your noses, cheeks and smiles are nearly identical. She was so beautiful, and you are too."  
  
I blushed. No one had ever complimented me like that before, and Wendy was so sincere. I folded the dress over my arm and took her hand. "Thank you, Wendy, for everything. This is more than I deserve, really." Inside my head, I was practically screaming to myself Go back to your room! Don't do this! Don't kiss her! It will do nothing but destroy her life! I felt sinful for wanting it so much.  
  
"It was no problem at all," she spoke softly, leaning over and kissing my cheek. I could have cried then, but I forced myself to stay composed. Her face lingered next to mine, and I could feel her breathing on my skin. Our eyes met, gazes locked for what felt like hours. Before either of us knew what was happening, our lips met and we kissed, slowly, achingly slowly. My hands found their way inside her robe, carressing her hips and her back through the thin cotton of her nightgown while she entwined her arms around my shoulders, pressing close to me. When we ended the kiss, we held each other some more, and Wendy began to cry softly, burying her hands through my hair.  
  
I realized then just how much we did need each other. I had never known any real affection and yet the concept wasn't lost on me. I was not only capable of love, but I had a deep-rooted urge to love another, and Wendy, dear, sweet Wendy, with her Neverland stories and her kindness, she was by nature a loving, nurturing person, completly devoted to her family. None of this changed how I felt about preventing us from starting any sort of affair. Whatever love we had for each other could not, must not, ever manifest into any physical encounters. There was more than us concerned. There was Jane and Danny to think of. How could they ever understand their mother straying from their father in this way? Wendy was twelve years into a marriage, ten years into motherhood, it would be unfair of me to make her leave what had been established. I knew firsthand that children need stability in their families, and Jane's eyes, those sad, furious eyes haunted me. And Edward! Despite what we had, Wendy still loved him, they had pledged their lives to each other, and it wasn't empty words spoken in a church. No matter what, we would have become close, but if Edward had never left, I know it never would have gotten this far. I thought all of this as we held each other in the bedroom, silent as moonlight, until she sniffled and whispered, "Hannah, stay with me tonight. Don't leave me alone," she pleaded.  
  
I could only nod my head yes, the lump in my throat refused to dissolve. We made our way to the bed, drawing back the blankets and climbing in. Wendy went in first, laying on her side, and I went in behind her, my arms cradling her and my legs entangled with hers. I breathed deeply, the scent of her hair against my face subtle and beautiful. I covered us both with the crocheted blanket and she began to fall asleep. The grandfather clock downstairs chimed, announcing that it was midnight, and I remained motionless, taking in the feeling of her warm, living body melded to mine. I etched every detail into my mind, as it was all I could ever have. 


End file.
